


A Priceless Gift

by afteriwake



Series: Where Speech Ends [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sherlock is to leave the country for the assignment that he and Molly both know is going to be a one way trip he leaves Molly a tremendously special parting gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Priceless Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrorfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorfangirl/gifts).



> And this one is also based on another instrumental piece, “Bach: Largo for Violin” by Emilie Autumn. I promise that this is the last non-shippy story! As this one is the last that takes place in what would have been series 2 or 3 (since this takes place just before the plane scene at the end of "His Last Vow") I can move onto the shippy stuff for the rest of the series now. The question used to inspire this story came from the article "[10 Unexpectedly Fun Questions To Ask On A First Date](http://www.hellogiggles.com/questions-to-ask-on-a-first-date/)" by Lisa Lo Paro.

**What's something you've always wanted to try?**

She hadn't spoken to him since that day in her office. Oh, she had gone to the hospital to see for herself he was okay when he'd been shot, that he was going to pull through. But he was asleep and she didn't wait to see if he woke up. Then things happened, things she still didn't quite understand, and he had killed a man in cold blood and was being sent away by Mycroft on a task. Mycroft himself had asked her to say good-bye to Sherlock, letting himself into her home and waiting until she came back with arms laden with the groceries she stocked up on when she was depressed, the ice cream and crisps and out of season fruit, which today happened to be pomegranates. She could tell Sherlock wasn't supposed to come back, from the way Mycroft was acting. She had gotten quite good at reading both Holmes brothers over the years and she could see a sort of resignation and a tinge of sadness in the elder brother. But she still didn't want to face Sherlock so she declined.

The day he was supposed to fly away on his final assignment from his brother she nearly tripped over the oddly shaped package outside her door when she tried to leave to go to the hospital. She knew the shape fairly well because she'd had its contents in her home for two years until Sherlock came back and reclaimed it. She was going to be late to work, she realized as she decided to bring it inside, but that didn't matter. She shifted her hold on her handbag, picked up the package wrapped in brown paper with the envelope taped on top and carried it into her home. She set it on her dining room table and carefully opened it up, revealing the ever so slightly battered violin case underneath. It was a case that showed years of use, a case that showed it held a very beloved possession. She fingered the latches and then undid them, opening it up before running her fingers lightly over the violin, a feeling of sadness washing over her. So. It was true. He wasn't going to come back and she'd wasted her chance to give him a proper good-bye.

She let her fingers play over the wood and strings for a moment before she moved her hand away and pulled the paper out from under the case. She took the envelope off, opening it up and pulling out a simple card. It was white, and on the front was an embossed “SH” in gold. This must have been part of his personal stationary. She doubted he had bought these for himself, so they were probably a gift. From Mycroft, maybe? Or other family? His mum may have given him something like this, from what he'd told her of the woman. Or maybe someone else? Maybe Janine, perhaps? It didn't really matter, to be honest. The fact was, it had belonged to Sherlock and he thought it was appropriate to use for her. Then her mobile rang, breaking her out of her thoughts. She started slightly before moving away from the violin, going to her handbag and pulling out her mobile. She looked at the number and didn't recognize it, but she decided to answer it anyway. “Hello?” she asked warily.

“Do you like the gift?” she heard Sherlock asked. “I felt it was important that it went to someone who could put it to use.”

“How did you know I could--?” she began to ask.

“Mycroft told me, when I got back and he was filling me in on all the little details he thought were insignificant that I would most likely ignore. He mentioned the lessons and said that you probably wouldn't want to part with my violin when I inevitably asked for it back, even if you never used it. I was surprised you did, to be quite honest. So while it might have been something worth giving to John to pass on to his child I felt you would appreciate it more.” He paused. “I'm quite surprised you didn't use it in your lessons while I was gone. The one you bought is poor quality.”

“Yes, so my instructor has told me multiple times,” she said, a small smile on her face.

“Then impress her and show up to your next lesson with mine. She's a bit of a violin snob and will no doubt be impressed when you arrive bearing an antique violin dating back to 1809 and crafted by Anton Schaendl. It has an impressive tone that even an intermediate player like yourself can bring out with enough coaxing.”

“Sherlock, you're giving me a _two hundred year old violin_?” she asked incredulously, her jaw hanging slightly.

“Not giving. Gave,” he insisted. “There is no way you can give it back to me. I'm sure by now you've realized that this case involves a one way trip.”

“Yes, I have,” she said softly.

“It's my penance,” he replied, the volume of his voice dropping. “A way for me to lessen the problem I have made with my actions.”

“Why did you do it, Sherlock?” she asked. “Why did you...you know.”

“Kill Magnussen?” he asked.

“Yes. That,” she replied.

“Because if I didn't, he would have ruined the lives of people I care about,” he said. “And he never would have stopped.” There was a pause. “I don't expect you to understand, but...”

“But it's John,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “We already know you'd do anything for John.”

“I would have done the same if it had been your life that was affected,” he said. “You are just as important to me.”

“No, I'm not,” she said, feeling the need to pace. She needed to move as she disabused him of the idea that she was as important as John. She wasn't. She couldn't be. “You jumped off a building to keep him safe. I mean, it kept Mrs. Hudson and Greg safe too, but you did it mostly for John.”

“And if Moriarty had turned around and left a contingency plan that targeted you I would have made sure it didn't come to pass,” he said in an insistent tone. “As I said the day I jumped, you do count. You've always counted, even when I've treated you like something I needed to scrape off the bottom of my shoe. You are important to me, Molly. Don't discount that.”

“But I could never be as important as John,” she said.

“But you _are_ ,” he said with a sigh. “And if I had the time I would list, point by point, each and every way that you are. But time is a luxury I don't have. I have to go now.”

“Oh,” she said. She was quiet for a moment. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he said.

“Be careful. I know your brother doesn't expect you to come back, but you're one of the smartest men in the world. If anyone can figure out a way to do that, you can. So try, all right? Try and come back to us. To all of us. Because we want you here.”

“I will try,” he said. “Good-bye, Molly.”

“Good-bye, Sherlock,” she said. She heard him end the call and then she lowered her phone. She stared at her hands, one holding her mobile and one holding the card, but she didn't really see them. She had gotten her good-bye, her proper good-bye, and while she was glad for it she felt sadness well up in her. It was all so permanent, him leaving, and it seemed as though nothing would change it. She felt tears spring to her eyes and she scrunched them up tight to keep from crying, taking deep breaths to steady herself. When she felt composed again she looked at the note and decided to open it later, when she could sit down with a glass of wine and cry over the feelings of loss and sadness she was stuffing down. In the meantime, though, she could at least listen to the soothing sounds of a violin, and with that thought she went to her handbag and pulled out her iPod, pulling up the song that she felt fit most with her thoughts and emotions at the moment. After a moment the sad but soothing tones of the song by Bach started and she felt better. Tonight she would attempt to play it, this piece which she never felt she could get to sound quite right, and she would think about Sherlock and how important he was to her. Maybe then she could deal with everything she was feeling.


End file.
